Chris has written poetry for 28 years though he focuses on short fiction. But watch out for the occasional twisted nursery rhyme.
If I let myself fall from the pinnacle of the world
Into air so thin it would barely nourish my lungs
And open my arms wide
To soar like an eagle,
Will updrafts carry me above brick and steel,
And harmful gasses to the edge of space
To find God or a god
If more than one exists?
And if not, I’d be that god to rule from on high.
The enemies of this world would fall before me—
Until the ride was over,
And I myself began to fall.
All the cares I’d left behind spun back toward me.
The sea opened to swallow me.
Blue slate became ripples,
And ripples, giant waves.
I flew like a cannonball toward a castle wall
But the bosom of the sea enveloped me
As a mother would a child
And I saw she was dying.
Her children had declared war on the ancient deep,
And I sank into our mother’s depths
Pressure crushed me,
As I dropped into the cold abyss.
The water began to warm above the volcanic floor.
Ancient organisms blossomed, and I knew
That if we destroy our inheritance,
And squander our bequest,
Life will rise again.
The Reality and Beauty of Darwinian Evolution
© 2019 Chris Mills